Su Mo was jolted awake by a suffocating sensation.
He felt as though he were about to die. Every rise and fall of his chest brought excruciating pain, yet he could barely draw any air in.
"Water... water..."
His throat was cracked and scorched, and the voice he barely managed to force out was so faint and hoarse that even he could hardly hear it.
Yet everything around him was pitch-black. He could see nothing, and no one responded to his cries for help.
All he could feel was the world spinning, as though he might black out at any moment.
But he clenched his teeth hard, using the last scraps of his willpower to hold on and keep himself from losing consciousness.
He wanted to figure out what was going on!
Especially this body—it was so sick it was practically dying. Worst of all, it had not the slightest trace of qi or blood. It was nothing but a cripple!
But how was that possible?
He, Su Mo, might not measure up to that bastard Min Zimo, but he could not possibly be this pathetic, could he?
An indescribable sense of absurdity and pent-up frustration welled up in his heart.
Su Mo struggled, trying to brace himself against the edge of the bed with his arms and sit up.
Unfortunately, he had overestimated what this diseased, broken body could do.
He had barely shifted half a fraction when his arms suddenly went limp and gave out.
His body lost its support, and with a "thump," he rolled off the bed and hit the floor.
"Ugh..."
Agony and suffocation surged over him at the same time. Su Mo curled up on the icy floor, cold sweat instantly soaking through his thin clothes.
Still, the commotion was loud enough to finally